


Affliction by Fiction

by Listenerofshadows



Category: Sander Sides, Thomas Sanders, Thomas Sanders (Video Blogging RPF) - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternative title - Aggressive Snapping, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders - Freeform, Dragon Witch - Freeform, Gen, Snap Snap Snap, The Fic Where Roman wishes his problems away by snapping sassily, Vomit Mention, blood mention, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 15:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13954128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Listenerofshadows/pseuds/Listenerofshadows
Summary: “It was something Roman constantly feared. The question that ran through his mind every pulsing moment. How was he going to top himself this time? Had he reached his capacity to dream, to think outside the box? Were his ideas stale and no longer interesting to the rest?” // Roman struggles with a Creative Block.





	Affliction by Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place shortly after “My Personality Q&A” and it’s loosely based off @sanders-sides-thuri‘s headcanon post about Roman and the Dragon Witch being good friends.
> 
> What better way to break writer’s block than to write about Roman struggling with writer’s block? Haha, this was pretty therapeutic. I hope you guys enjoy!

There were days where words flowed forth from his fingertips freely and gracefully without a second thought. Then there were days when it was like pulling teeth to force the words onto the paper. Today was the latter.

“No, no, no!” He growled to himself, shoving the papers off his desk, “It has to be perfect.”

His chair fell onto ground as he abruptly stood up and began pacing around the room, arms clasped tightly behind his back. He’d been at this for a whole day—and still, nothing! It had been so exciting at the beginning—the idea allured and enchanted him. But then, when he sat down to write—it fought to be constrained by paper and ink.

It wasn’t just that was bothering him—it was also the fact that he barely had a presence in the last two Sander Sides videos. He–Creativity—made to feel like a side character in his own creation! It simply would not stand, if Roman had anything to say about it. The muses did not smile upon him today, however. It seemed they preferred him to wrestle for his ideas.

If he was going to wrestle for them, he preferred to do it by his sword.

He snapped his fingers, and a beautiful sword fell into his hands. It was grandiose, embedded with the finest gems and crafted by the finest blacksmith in all the lands. Realistically, it would’ve taken two hands to hold—but Roman doesn’t deal with realism. He swung it experimentally with his left hand—the sword cutting through air in a graceful manner.

He pulled out his right hand and snapped again—this time the papers shot up from the floor and started flying around the room like snow flurries. They flitted in front of him in a jaunty manner, mocking them with the half-finished ideas etched into their ivory skin.

He raised his sword again and this time his blade shredded through the papers, tearing them apart like confetti. He didn’t stop until the words were undiscernible and destroyed beyond recognition.

He ran a hand through his hair as he stared at the remains in disgust. A snap, and then they vanished from his view. Far away into the depths of the subconscious they go, never to return.

Now, with that taken care of, he strode through the door into his realm. Imagination, to be precise, but it might as well as be his kingdom, and his alone. Logan had no need for it, of course. Patton adored his kingdom, and Roman loathed to admit that the moral side had some measure of power over it. He tried keeping Anxiety out of his realm at all costs. He had no need for dark powers to tamper with his already temperamental lands.

But he alone was its’ guardian, its’ caretaker. All the Sides could conjure up items—mental constructs essentially—but he could do it with such fluidity due to his function in Thomas’ mind. He crafted entire forests and meadows and cities within the confines of Imagination and never reached the end. For there is no end to imagination, unless you make a conscious effort to make one.

He was the first to take corporal form, to explore his craftsmanship firsthand. He still remembered the others’ awe and how he felt when they imitated him—how they wanted to be like him! It seemed forever ago since the last time he’d impressed them with his ideas in such a fashion.

He will enchant them again, if he had any input on the matter. He must, or else his existence is pointless.

First, however, he needed to let out some frustration before he can even begin to think about new ideas. Creating is a fickle process, one that requires utmost delicacy. He is not in a mood for wonder right now—anything created will almost certainly result in nightmare fuel.

He walked through a village, somber and silent. A plague ravaged the lands, leaving the villagers in despair. He spotted her by the well, disguised as a sickly old woman drawing water.

Normally, he’d waited until she was alone, but he had no patience today. With a snarl, he charged at her, sword tightly gripped in his hands. The villagers gasped, but he paid them no mind as he jammed his sword into the woman’s chest. A scream broke out when the woman transformed into the true monster that laid within.

As he wiped off the blood of his sword, frustration still boiled away within his heart. He grimaced. It might take a thousand killings before it lessened.

The villagers swarmed him, patting him on the back and shaking his hand in gratitude. They feasted in his honor, but he did not stay in this scenario for long.

He finished the last of his ale and snapped his fingers. He blinked, and he found himself in the dark hallways of a castle. He gathered up his courage and pressed onwards. The castle was littered with terribly cliched booby traps. At one point, he ran for his life as a large enchanted boulder chased after him.

 He finally reached the top of the castle, where a maiden is gagged and bound at the foot of her suppressor.

“Unhand her, Maleficent Knock-off!”

A hand caressed the maiden’s cheek. Sharp, freshly manicured nails dug deep into the flesh, sprouting streams of blood. The maiden cried out in muffled screams.

“You’d really think I’d give her up that easily?” A chuckle.

Roman gritted his teeth.

“I challenge you to a duel!” He announced, “If I win, you let her go.”

“And what happens if you lose?”

“You decide.” Roman said, utterly uncaring of the punishment.

He strode forth, confident, as the heroes always won in idealized bouts of good and evil.  The monster grinned, and fire spewed from its’ mouth. Roman let out a dignified yelp, conjuring up a shield to deflect the incoming fire. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was an enchanted shield, it’d be a molten pile of metal in his hands by now.

When fire didn’t work, the monster took out its’ weapon and started firing off projectiles.

“Here!” He placed his shield in front of the maiden to defend her from the wild shots.

Roman needed to ensure her safety, or least he’d fail this quest. The key to defeating this monster was close combat. He sidestepped the incoming attacks with ease, it a familiar pattern to him for he had done it many times before. Upon approach, his sword knocked against the monster’s weapon, sparks flying out from contact.

He winced, withdrawing his sword to clash once again with her weapon. They danced about the balcony, twisting and spinning dangerously close to the edge. Many times, Roman’s footing faltered before he corrected himself and kept going. The tango ended when the force of Roman’s sword sent the monster falling over the edge. He looked down to see the monster slipping off a window ledge.

“Curses,” The monster hissed, before tumbling to its doom.

He freed the maiden and saw her safely to her castle. Before the king could offer to make him a knight, he snapped, and the scenario changed.

He killed the monster haunting the forest, snap. He slaughtered the evil ruler who oppressed their subjects, snap. He defeated the wicked enchantress who put a terrible curse upon all the lands, snap. He kept at it, until he reached the lair of a beast that stole all the kingdom’s gems—including the royal crown. He traveled the caverns by torchlight, shivering from the cold, dark magic that resides from within.

Light flickered ahead, and he approached. It was a room with a roaring fireplace and stacked with piles of gold as far as the eye can see. Straight across from him, was the dastardly villain from all his tales.

“So, we meet again,” The Dragon Witch.

A deceptively beautiful sorceress, with the power of turning into a gruesome dragon. She lounged on her throne, looking down on him with a bored gaze. The sorceress twirled her scepter, as green light emanated from it, forming intricate patterns. Roman had fought her long enough to know it was just harmless displays akin to fireworks.

“Dragon-Witch!” He raised his sword in a flamboyant motion, “I come here on the behalf of His Royal Highness to bring an end to your reign of terror!”

She yawned.

“Enough of the charades, Princey,” She intoned, “What have I done this time? Burned down a village? Kidnapped a princess? Or perhaps, I’m merely a metaphor for your creative block.”

He jolted. He hadn’t put those words into her mouth, had he? Perhaps he merely misheard her words. There was no way—

“Wh—what?” He knitted his eyebrows together, “But you couldn’t possibly—”

“have self-awareness?” Dragon Witch raised an eyebrow, “I am a character, a figment of Thomas’ imagination as much as you and the others are. Sure, I might not embody essential parts of his personality, such as Morality or Creativity—but I am a creation of his. All creations have parts of their creator’s souls, in a way.”

“But I created you.” Roman protested, “I was the side responsible for your creation. You’re just a character—you shouldn’t—”

The Dragon Witch laughed, “Rationalize it anyway you want, you are a part of Thomas and ultimately it was Thomas who created me. I’d thought of all the sides, you’d know better, Creativity.”

Roman shuddered, forced to look away from her callous stare. It was unnerving to hear the sorceress address him so directly.

“Know what, foul fiend?”

Her smirk quickly dissolved into a harsh laugh.

“Answer me!” Roman shouted, “Or I’ll run this sword through your wretched heart!”

That caused her to laugh even harder.

“Oh, come on, we both know that is only a temporary fix. Nothing truly stays dead in your realm, does it?” She shook her head, “Regardless, if you created me or not; you should know that characters often have thoughts of their own. Do you think you could entertain a thought of mine?”

“Listen here, Evil Queen! If you plan to crush Thomas’ hopes and dreams—”

“I want an herb garden.”

“Wh-what?” He blinked, lowering his sword in surprise.

“Would an herb garden be too much?” She smirked, “Suppose I don’t like damp, dingy dungeons. Suppose I like living in a homey cottage with an herb garden.”

As she spoke those words, the green sparks of her scepter grew until it twirled across the walls of the cave. Upon contact, the rocks forming the cave began to groan as they started crumpling.

“Enough of this!” He shouted, snapping his fingers.

The cave shone with light as the ceiling cracked open. Snap. The Cave grew smaller, as four walls of solid rock trapped them in a rectangle box. Snap. The Witch’s throne turned into a rocking chair, and a roof covered the box. Snap. The piles of gold turned into woodland creatures as grass blossomed and a beautiful garden sprouted.

He snapped his fingers. Snap, snap, snap to no avail.

“Are you finished?” Dragon Witch stared at him in exasperated amusement.

“You can’t—how did you,” Roman made indignant Princey noises.

This was bad. Was this a sign that Roman was losing his touch?

The Dragon Witch was a villain who had terrorized his kingdom many times. He had created her for that very purpose. Every grand tale needed an antagonist for the hero to overthrow, after all. He never anticipated the idea she’d be able to gain sentience, much less override his commands.

He glanced over the room. The structure was comprised of one singular room. A fireplace was in the center, merrily roaring away. Towards the left of the fireplace was a small cot with shelves full of books hanging above it.  Straight ahead from the cot was a small table with two chairs around it. On the other side of the room was a small stove for cooking.  Why a one-room cottage? He wondered. It didn’t fit her character—the Dragon Watch was proudful and arrogant. A mansion or a castle suited her tastes better. It had to be a trap, something to catch him off guard.

Something shrieked, and Roman immediately pulled out his sword in response. The enchantress laughed.

“Relax, Your Highness, it’s only the tea.” She said, pointing to where a teapot rested on the top of the stove.

He could’ve easily chopped her head off as she strolled past him. One swift blow, and it’d be over. Except, he remembered her teasing words when he’d earlier threatened her life. She hinted that she still retained sentience after resets. Besides, he needed answers and even he knew that sadly not everything could be solved by sword.

The Dragon Witch hummed underneath her breath as she prepared the tea.

“Put away that sword and let’s have a chat,” She chastised, placing the tea tray on the table.

Roman unhappily complied but remained standing as the Witch took a seat at the table.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” She asked, pouring a cup for herself, “I made a full pot.”

“No thank you,” He said, his lips puckered in distaste.

He would not allow himself to be tricked that easily. The tea could easily be enchanted with a curse.

“Would you at least sit down?” She sighed.

“No.” He folded his arms.

“Suit yourself, then,” She said as she stirred her tea.

“Why a cottage?” He blurted out.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Why not a castle full of gargoyles or—or a haunted mansion?” He demanded, accompanying it with elaborate hand gestures.

“I don’t know,” She shrugged her shoulders, “A cottage just…seemed right.”

“I don’t understand—you’re supposed to be an evil witch! A cunning, ruthless opponent who cares nothing but power and wealth! A cottage would be—” He breathed in, eyes wide, “just right for you.”

He focused his gaze back on her, “What sorcery is this?”

Roman knew the Dragon Witch from when she was just an Idea; before he implemented her into the fables of the realm. However, she wanted to live in a cottage and for some reason…it felt right to him.  Why of course, she’d want to live in a cottage, deep in the forest.

She held up her hands, “I swear an oath on the Blood Moon magic had no part in this.”

“When did you gain self-awareness?”

“I’ve always known,” She stated, “Don’t act too surprised—writers talk all the time that they feel like characters have a mind of their own; why it is a surprise for you to find out it’s true?”

“Why haven’t you exercised free-will before?”

She smirked, “I had no need to. I do love playing the villain; seeing castles crumple and people cry out in terror delights me. It is the reason behind my creation, and I do not mind it. I just felt…like I had to correct you. You always place my home in castles or caves but…I’ve always wanted to live in a cottage. I guess I grew a fondness for them after pretending to be an old hag that one time.”

He narrowed his eyes, still distrustful of her intentions.

“If you enjoy playing the villain so much, why’d you stop the scenario?” He slammed his hand against the table, causing the tea pot to rattle, “Have our adventures grown too…stale? Are you trying to get to me, so you can hurt Thomas? ANSWER ME!”

“No—of course not!” Dragon Witch glared, “I enjoy playing the villain—but I would  _never_ harm Thomas. That is not at all why I brought you here.”

“Then why?” He gritted his teeth, pulling out his sword with a flourish.

“You weren’t…yourself today.”

“What do you mean, Wicked Witch of the West? I am just as fanciful and flawless as always!” He threw back his head.

“Something’s wrong—I know you often battle me to let off steam, but this is different. You allowed no climactic buildup, you didn’t let out your usual witty quips and you hardly celebrated your victory before moving on to the next adventure. Do you know how many times we fought today?”

“I…”

“One hundred and nineteen times. I believe we started repeating storylines at one point.” She looked at him, “You never repeat storylines.”

Roman’s sword slipped from his fingers, resulting in a loud clang. His legs buckled underneath, and he slumps onto the ground, missing the chair by a yard. One hundred and nineteen times. He’s hit with a realization of how exhausted he truly was. He attempted rising, but his muscles screamed at him to stay still.

A very undignified sob escaped from his throat, he immediately clasped his mouth shut.

_‘Yes, that’s right.’_  An unwanted thought purred,  ** _‘_** _Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let them know.’_

“Curse you, using a Disney reference against me.” Roman mumbled under his breath, too low for the Witch to hear.

She left her chair, leaning down beside him with an air of concern. It was odd to see his arch nemesis actually…concerned for his wellbeing. It made him feel weak.

“Perhaps…I’ve truly lost my touch.”

It was something Roman constantly feared. The question that ran through his mind every pulsing moment. How was he going to top himself this time? Had he reached his capacity to dream, to think outside the box? Were his ideas stale and no longer interesting to the rest?

He shouldn’t have admitted it to the Dragon Witch of all people, but he couldn’t bear letting the others know.

“What makes you think that?” The Dragon Witch scoffed, nonplussed by this admittance.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He exhaled, “I couldn’t come up with one good idea all day—and I was unable to stop you from creating the cabin! I can’t afford to let Thomas down and yet—”

  
“Think fast.” A fireball emerged from the fire pit and rushed towards him.

He didn’t have time to produce his shield. He shut his eyes tight and hoped for the best as he snapped his fingers.

Immediately the fire extinguished, becoming a gentle breeze that ruffled his hair. He quickly patted his head for any signs of singed hair regardless. Once he was certain his exquisite hair was safe, he glowered up at the Dragon Witch.

“What in the world was that?!” He exclaimed, “I thought you pulled me in here just for a chat, Morgan Le Fay!”

The Dragon Witch said nothing, her face as pale as snow—exemplifying all the traits of someone terrified beyond speech. He knew it, he knew that this had to have been a trap. It was a classic villain move. They’d pretend to be nonthreatening and friendly until the hero was vulnerable and that was when they struck. He should’ve known better.

He’d had enough. He unsheathed his sword and stood up, ignoring the aching protest of his body. As he prepared to strike, the Witch collapsed.

“Bu—bucket,” She groaned, her face an unhealthy shade of green.

Roman shook off his surprise, conjuring up a bucket just in time for the witch to spill her guts into it. He’d quietly made it vanish it after she finished. He still held onto his sword, ready in case she decided to throw another fireball at him. The sickness had to be another act—another chance to get his guard down.

“Stop looking at me like that,” She scowled, “Do you think I’d really willingly vomit to set you off guard? I’d thought you’d remember what happens when a magic user reaches their limit considering  _you_  came up with it.”

He bit his lip. Right. Magic had a limit; if one pushed it, they’d physically get sick. He’d implemented it after one too many sorcerers went mad with unlimited power.

“Why did you attack me, then, if you were at your limit?”

“I—I wanted to test something,” She coughed, “You weren’t able to stop me from creating the cottage because it was an important aspect of my character. But characters are still bound to their creator’s whims, and if you don’t want me to throw a fireball at you, you can stop it.”

She laughed drily, “I didn’t think transforming that cave sucked so much of my energy, however.”

“It’s my fault isn’t it?” Roman muttered, glancing out towards the window.

He could see it better now. There was one too many dark clouds in the once perpetually sunny skies. The colors of the foliage were muted like clothing gone through the washers one too many times. It was quiet; not a single bird could have heard singing. The land was drained from one too many daydreams in one day.

“I was no better than a villain today,” He whispered, “I let my temper get the best of me—I was so convinced that I’d feel better after one more stab through the chest. I didn’t care about creating a story or finding inspiration for an idea—I lost sight of that completely.  How could I lose sight of procuring Thomas’ hopes and dreams?”

A snort.

“You are a terrible villain,” The Witch declared, “You lack the strut for it, you’re bad at keeping your opponents alive to give them evil monologues—not to mention the laugh! I’m very offended that you tried usurping my title.”

Was she trying to cheer him up? He frowned.

“Really?”

“Of course, that is why I called you here for a little chat,” She said, “Playing the villain is my job, not yours. Kid, you make a much better hero than I do, trust me.”

Her words were dripping with the haughty confidence that only villains could produce in spades. He must’ve looked at her strangely, for she elaborated further.

“Listen, you’re what makes me so great. What would a villain be without a hero challenging them? A successful villain, but a very bored one. I love seeing how you outthink my traps. It infuriates me—but it just makes me want to outdo you even more. However, I want to beat you at your best, for the sake of my pride. So, tell me what’s been eating at you, and I’ll rip it to shreds!”

She mimicked tearing something apart with her sharp nails and Roman laughed. He opened his mouth, and this time he confessed everything while they had tea time. He discussed his inability to come up new and exciting ideas and the fact he’d been made little more than a cameo in the last two Sander Sides videos.

“I called up my agent, and did you know what he said?”

“What?”

“He said, ‘Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it, since I’m imaginary.’”

“THAT’S NO EXCUSE!”

“That’s what I told him as well!” Roman exclaimed, feeling validated, “So what he does? He said, ‘I can’t do the impossible’ and he quit on me!”

“He clearly didn’t deserve you.”

“I know right?!” Roman pouted, “So now I’m stuck between agents—I have to have the perfect agent for my fabulous self, because that is  _not_  happening again.”

“Of course,” The Witch readily agreed as she took a sip from her tea cup, “You should remind Thomas next time about the injustice of your screen time.”

“Believe me, I will not stand being a side character for a third time in a row,” Roman pursed his lips, “Now all that’s left is coming up with a brilliant video idea that will knock the socks off Thomas’ viewers!”

“I’m sure you can handle it, Princey.”

“I think—no I know I can do it!” Roman declared, “I realized something while talking with you—I have to go with something that’s 100% original, it can’t be based off anything Thomas or someone else has done before. That’s the way to go!”

“You think that can be done?” The Dragon Witch furrowed her brows.

“Absolutely!” Roman said, “See, before I was trying come up with ideas based on things Thomas did for Vine but I realize now, I have to go for something original; there can be no outside influences! It could be something like—sketch my autobiography, where instead of just telling the viewers about his life, Thomas draws it! That’s it!”

Roman snapped his fingers, and a pen and paper fell into his hands neatly. He scribbled the idea hastily onto the paper. This idea had to work—he couldn’t let Thomas down by not being able to perform his job.

“It’s a good idea, right?” He asked the Dragon Witch.

“I think it’s marvelous!” She nodded, “I certainly never heard anything like it.”

“Of course, because I just made it up!” Roman laughed giddily, “It’s perfect! I can’t wait to show Thomas!”

“You best be off then,” The Dragon Witch replied, “there’s no use in waiting.”

“You’re right!” He said.

He made a move to go, before pausing.

“We’re still enemies, right?”

“What made you think otherwise!” The Dragon Witch gasped, putting a hand on her chest, “One measly tea time does not change the fact you keep ruining my plans for world domination. A villain needs a hero to fight, after all!”

“That’s good to hear,” He grinned, “What do you say we meet up sometime next week and discuss scenarios, perhaps? I’m rather fond of having to stage a daring rescue from the evil Dragon Witch’s clutches.”

“That sounds good, although I’m fond of the idea that it’s the annoying hero that must rescue himself from the Dragon Witch’s unescapable mazes,” She smirked, “Oh! We can’t meet up at all on Wednesday afternoon because I have an appointment at Medusa’s salon.”

“Really you go there? Why not Sleeping Beauty’s?”

“Oh! Medusa’s not that bad if you avoid eye contact, in fact she does a fantastic manicure! Besides, I’m pretty sure Beauty would freak if I walked in to her place. Evil Dragon Witch and all that, remember?”

“Quite right,” He chuckled, “Well then! Perhaps Friday?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Excellent, now if you’d excuse me, I must bid you adieu!”

As he sunk down into the mindscape, he felt much more like his usual, dashing self again. Visiting his realm had been a good decision—although the outcome had been wildly different than he initially expected. Who’d knew the Dragon Witch to be a courteous conversationalist when the mood struck her?

His eyes locked onto his bed—it’s numerous fluffy pillows and soft comforters calling to him. He placed the paper on the nightstand, intending to rest his eyes for only a few moments. By the time his head crashed onto the pillow, he was sound asleep


End file.
